This Night
by MagikCat
Summary: The night before their last year, James S. Potter and his cousin decide to celebrate the end of summer with a night about town in the Muggle world.


_**A/N:**__ This didn't end up like I thought it would, but I'm relatively pleased with it all the same. Many thanks to my betas – _ _**author_by_night**__ for your honesty and _ _**mollywheezy**__ for your awesome eye!_ Written at **hp_tarot**for the Round Four of the Potterverse Tarot Fest.

**Card Interpretation:** _The Fool is the first card of the Tarot and is generally unnumbered, or numbered zero. The Fool is at the start of our journey and is the initiator. Seen by many as the innocent, he has an eagerness and freshness about him. He is young and carefree, entering the World without preconceptions…Sometimes the Fool is seen as too carefree - certainly a good dose of other people's more negative reality could damage him. However, for as long as the Fool has faith in his own purity and innocence, others will not be able to take advantage. _

"I can't believe you're going to go through with this."

James gave Rose's reflection a grin as he raked a wet comb through his hair. "You're welcome to come with us if you like, Rosie-Posy," he said.

"No thanks." Rose frowned and crossed her arms. "Your Mum said to stay in the Leaky Cauldron. You may not care about _your_hide if she catches you, but I certainly care about mine."

"What are you? A Slytherin?" Fred muttered, straightening the red and black necktie Roxanne had given to him for Christmas before snorting and throwing it off. As his sister had already left Hogwarts, James's parents had offered to take him to King's Cross the next morning.

"Besides, what's the harm?" James asked, throwing the comb on the bed. "Anything that might attack us can be knocked out with a good Stunner, easily." Come to think of it, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing—an attack from some perilous creature would break up the monotony of life nicely.

Rose ignored both of them and instead turned to the blonde girl on the floor by her feet. "Maggie, back me up—you can't believe they'll get away with this?"

Maggie Longbottom finished intertwining her second braid before answering. Despite being nearly a year older than Lily, she still wore two braids to bed. "We're leaving tomorrow, Rose. James is right. The worst their folks could do is send them a Howler at Tuesday's breakfast."

"And even they know James and I have had enough that we can laugh about it." Fred bent down to check if his tie was straight in the mirror, and frowned slightly. He looked at Maggie, pulling at the end of a dreadlock. "You think these ought to go?" he asked.

She cocked her head at him for a moment, considering, and then shook it. "No, you look quite debonair with them."

James felt a stab of annoyance—though Fred was a lot of things, 'debonair' was not one of them—but pushed it aside. "Yeah—the girls might be afraid of an attack, Fred."

Rose wasn't going to let the subject drop that easily. "You know as much about wandering the Muggle world as you do wrestling a troll," she told them. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but he could tell their inability to see reason was aggravating her. Breaking down what she deemed foolish schemes with spouts of logic was a tactic that worked nearly every time before, and she refused to let it fail her now.

"We took three years of Muggle Studies!" Fred cried, affronted. "We're not completely clueless!

"And how many lessons did you sleep through? You didn't even go to N.E.W.T. level."

James knew they hadn't slept through _that_many lessons—and certainly not all of the same ones. "We'll manage."

"Surely you can't go without magic?" she asked coolly. "Not when you whip your wands out to summon the butter for toast every morning."

James rolled his eyes. "Muggles do it all the time and manage to survive. How hard can it be?"

"Honestly, Rose. Leave them alone," Maggie sighed. "They aren't going to change their minds and you know it."

Rose opened her mouth, closed it, and crossed her arms again.

"Don't you have an essay left to do or something?" James asked innocently. Rose was probably just as smart as Aunt Hermione, but also a notorious procrastinator. Sure enough, she suddenly looked so bad-tempered that James was forcibly reminded of Aunt Audrey's irritable Pekingese. "Transfiguration, right? Tut tut, Rosie—you're never going to survive fifth year if you don't start staying on top of things."

Fred laughed, and finally seemed satisfied with his reflection. "Are you ready to take the town by storm, cousin-of-mine?

James gave Maggie a grin. "Last chance to join us, Magpie."

She rolled her eyes at the old childhood nickname. "I've already seen London, and after…well, after last Easter, I promised Dad I wouldn't be out this late again." James tried to hide his smile—he knew being locked out of the Leaky Cauldron and having to spend the night among the rubbish bins had not been a pleasant experience for her. Luckily, since he and Fred often helped Hannah around the pub and could do magic, a simple Unlocking Spell was all they would need when they returned. "Why don't you take Al? Or Hugo?" she went on.

"Because Al's a prat and Hugo's underage," he snorted, slightly disappointed. Besides her elder brother, Jack—who was in Brazil chasing Jumping Juju Bushes or whatever—Maggie was his oldest friend, and would have been fun to bring along. But he knew she would never forgive herself for breaking a promise—especially to Neville.

"You're going to get in trouble," Rose muttered.

"Ah, Rosie, don't you know—the risk is part of the fun!" James chirped.

When James had suggested seeing the sights of London as a way to end the summer before their last year at Hogwarts, he had been surprised when Fred had agreed. After all, his cousin had lived in London longer than the Longbottoms—he must have explored it hundreds of times.

However, as soon as they had slipped out of the Leaky Cauldron in the warm night air his cousin said quickly, "Did you have any plans?"

James raised an eyebrow. "Not really. Why?"

"There's a local band playing outside London," he replied. "The … Prancing Deer or Trotting Horses or something. I heard a couple of girls squealing about it at the deli last Friday."

"Are they any good?"

He shrugged. "No idea. Shall we crash it?"

This seemed as good an idea as any—he had never been to a Muggle concert. Since he knew where it was, Fred grabbed his arm and Apparated the two of them. They reappeared in a park of some kind, near a ten foot-high wooden enclosure. It curved sharply into what they realized was a circle, and the only thing they could see was the thin bright lights that rose above it.

"If you brought your cloak, we can sneak in," Fred said.

A crowd was already queuing the only opening to the fence, above which read 'Show Tonight—The Kicking Donkeys' in bright read letters. Below it, glaring fiercely at everyone, stood a large, beefy Muggle with arms as thick as tree limbs and a silly-looking pencil mustache. He reminded James of the kind of tough young men he and Fred liked to give a hard time at school because they took themselves so seriously.

"Why don't we be polite and say hello?" he suggested with a smirk.

Fred smirked too, seeming to read his mind. "Why not?"

They were in the queue for a relatively short time—the music had begun to enormous applause and most of the attendees already seemed to be inside the fence—before they stood in front of the Muggle. James saw that his name tag read 'Bill'.

"Tickets," he grunted.

"Oh, are you selling them?" James asked in a tone of mock surprise.

Fred grinned. "How kind of you!"

Bill blinked, as if no one had dared to speak to him in such a jovial way in his life, before scowling again. "No tickets, no entry."

"But you said you have the tickets!" Fred cried. "We can't enter if you don't give them to us!"

"Do I look like I'm carrying tickets?" Bill snapped, holding up his hands—the only thing in them was empty and other was a rather large fist.

"What's in that?" James asked, point at the fist.

"A knock out pill if you aren't careful," he snarled.

The few people were clicking their tongues impatiently, but most of the girls seemed to be giggling. A grin threatened to break loose from James's look of innocent surprise. "They have pills for that, Fred? I don't remember that in class."

"That must be N.E.W.T. level, James."

Bill was breathing heavily through his nose, as though fighting to keep control, and his next words were barely audible through his clenched teeth. "Do you have tickets or don't you?"

"I thought you had them!" James said, rather enjoying himself.

"I don't have any bloody tickets!" the man roared.

Fred pretended to be slightly startled at the sudden raise in volume. "Fine," he said coolly, as though Bill was overreacting in a perfectly polite conversation. "That's all you had to say to us. No need to be rude about it."

"Don't worry, mate," James said, patting . "We won't tell your boss. Have a pleasant evening!" And they strode passed him, sputtering, without further ado. Whether Bill didn't stop them because he was too stunned to do so or didn't want to deal with them anymore, neither he nor Fred turned to see. They waited until they were well out of earshot—only a short way considering how loud the music was—before bursting into laughter.

"Always works," Fred cackled. "I swear, we should write a book about it."

James held up both his hands with his thumb and pointer reflected at each other as if picturing a title between them. "'A Guide to Confusing Muggles—No Wand Required!'" He imagined a simple Obliviate would've been quicker, but he didn't like casting spells on the non-magical if he could help it. It seemed rather wrong—like stealing from a blind person.

The Kicking Donkeys were already onstage, and what they lacked in the name they made up in their music. It wasn't bad—there was a deep, almost electronic beat that seemed to put all the Muggles—mostly teenagers—into a kind of dancing frenzy. This appeared to be the point, because James couldn't make out any of the lyrics.

"What do you think?" Fred yelled, barely heard over the music.

"It's a bit loud, isn't it?" he yelled back. Fred furrowed his eyebrows, obviously not able to hear him. James rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him away to get drinks.

James was about as good at Muggle money as Granddad Weasley, so he thrust what he thought was the largest bill at the man selling drinks from what seemed to be a portable ice box. "Keep the change," he said, grabbing a couple of beers. The man stared at him, wide-eyed, and then, as if afraid he'd change his mind, hastily shoved it in a bum bag around his middle.

They leaned against the fence, where at least they didn't have to yell at each other as loudly to be heard. As they drank their beers and half watched the band, the two of them made comments on the absurdities of Muggles.

"I still can't understand a word they're saying."

"I don't think anyone else can either…."

"…Are they dancing or squishing grapes?"

"Hard to tell, isn't it? Nana would be horrified…."

"…Great Morgana, are they—?"

"Can't tell, but I don't want to know…."

And finally, when one of the band members was randomly lifted a foot into the air by an obvious harness—

"That was the most ridiculous looking thing I have ever seen—they didn't even try to make it seem real."

"Muggles are easily satisfied."

"Hello there."

It was a testament to their selective hearing that James and Fred were able to catch the female voice above the din. They turned. A pretty dark-haired girl was smiling in interest at the two of them. Behind her, a blonde just as good-looking was smiling also.

James grinned, trying to appear casual. "Hello."

"That was very funny what you did back there," she said, pointing her thumb behind her to the entry way. "I've never seen Bill look so stupid."

"We're the masters at confusing unsuspecting victims," Fred said. "He's about as bright as a burned out torch."

"That's obvious," laughed the dark haired girl. "I'm Violet, by the way. And this is Tabatha." She nodded at her friend.

"Charmed," James said, putting down his nearly empty bottle. "You ladies enjoying yourselves?" He was used to girls trying to pick him up, but there was something a bit more satisfying about a Muggle one doing so—perhaps because they didn't know who his father was, or care.

"Now we are," Tabatha giggled. "You seem bored, though."

"Could be worse," Fred admitted.

"We heard you talking about Muggles," Tabatha said curiously. "What are they?"

James cast him an irritated look. "It's a term James and I use for boring people," Fred lied quickly.

"Oh. I hope that we don't seem like Muggles to you," Violet purred, smiling again.

Fred beamed. "Not in the slightest."

"D'you want to dance?" Tabatha asked James suddenly.

Surprised but pleased, he nodded. "Yeah, alright—but I warn you, I'm not that good."

Tabatha didn't seem to mind his lack of skills at all. On the contrary, the longer he tried to mimic the audience around him—hopping about and waving his arms like an ape—the more pleased she appeared to be. She danced fluidly, as though she were water leaping about, her brown eyes watching him with an almost hungry look. Nearby, he spotted Fred and Violet dancing so seamlessly it was as though they had been doing so for years.

He was having the time of his life and he could've happily had it go on and on.…

It was because of this, perhaps, that it took a few moments to notice the cold that suddenly crept up his skin, causing goose pimples to rise on his arms. Around him, the dancers were slowing down, shivering and looking confused as to where the sudden draft had come from. James caught Fred's eye, and he looked just as startled. The cold became worse, and all the laughter and cheer seemed to be sucked from him, like warm air taken from a balloon…

Suddenly, a few of the teens fell to the ground, covering their heads as though defending themselves from invisible attackers, moaning piteously.

Tabatha, to his horror, was among them.

"No! No! NOOOOOO!"

Pandemonium erupted. The band had stopped playing, and people were running hither and thither, with no idea what they were running from. James tried to pull Tabatha from the ground, to keep her from getting trampled, but she would not budge, and he resorted to pushing people aside to go around her.

"James! Look up!" Fred's face was white, and his hand shook when he pointed it. James looked in its direction, and felt the blood rush from his face as he saw the monsters he had only witnessed in his Defense Against the Dark Arts books.

At least a dozen dementors were swarming above the enclosure, dipping low on the crowd before rising up again like dark, misshapen kites. Without thinking, James drew out his wand and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fred do the same. "Think of something happy," he yelled at his cousin. "Just like Dad taught us!"

It was much easier said than done. It was as though he were swimming in a dark, icy ocean, making it hard to think. How could there be anything to be happy about? It was meaningless—_meaningless…._

I can't do it.

"Yes, you can, James."

Unbidden in his mind, he saw Dad smiling at him. Whether it was a memory or a hallucination, he did not know, but a bit of warmth, as though from a melting candle, flickered inside him.

_"You know the spell, son. Try again. What makes you happy?" _

He thought of his parents, waving at him proudly from their seats at his first Quidditch game—his aunts, uncles, and cousins singing carols at Christmas—Maggie laughing at a joke he made….

_"Expecto Patronum!" _

And, to James's utter relief, a huge silvery dog, as big as a bear, burst from his wand towards the dementors, leaping towards them and pelting one in the chest with its paws. Moments later, a bird he knew to be a toucan flew into the horde, its talons stretched towards the nearest one's hooded face. The shrieks were like a thousand knives scrapping against each other.

Within moments, as suddenly as they had come, they had scattered and gone.

The cold had lifted; everyone stopped screaming and looked at each other in confusion, wondering what the silvery things had been. In the mayhem, it seemed no one had seen who had cast them. Fred and James quickly hid their wands again.

James leaned to whisper in his cousin's ear. "Let's get out of here."

Fred nodded, still looking a bit white. Forgetting the girls, they quickly walked out of the enclosure, away from Muggle eyes, and Disapparated back to the Leaky Cauldron. Somehow, they managed to slip back into the pub and hurry up the stairs to their room.

James's heart was still pounding, as though it were about to burst from his chest. He didn't understand. Dad had always told him the dementors had been chased to the north long ago, away from human society. Why were they here?

"Good thing your dad made us learn how to cast a Patronus," Fred said, his voice quivering a bit. "I never thought we'd use it, but…"

"Yeah." He wondered if this is how his father had felt after one of his adventures—scared, shaken, confused, but oddly thrilled, as well. "Do you think anyone will know it was us?"

His cousin extinguished the lamps, leaving the room in darkness. "No. We're seventeen—it's not like we have the trace anymore. They probably know something was cast, though. I'm sure the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad is modifying all those memories as we speak."

This made his heart stop beating as fast—enough for a sudden thought to occur to him. "You know, this is the first time we were ever heroes—and we can't tell anyone."

Fred snorted irritably. "Typical."

When James's father came into their room the next morning, he assumed it was to wake them up to get on the train. His head pounded, though whether from the beer or the dementors, James couldn't say. He turned in his covers, and saw his father standing with his arms crossed, peering at the two of them severely.

"I've heard a strange story, boys," he said casually.

"Yeah?" Fred asked, sitting up. James followed suit.

"The A.M.R.S. just informed me they had to modify the memories of almost a hundred people last night."

"Oh? Why?" James tried to keep his face innocent, glad that his father was never very good at Legilimency. It was one thing to be caught out of bed—but doing magic while out of said bed could mean worse than a mere Howler.

"Most of them seem to think that a silver bird and a dog suddenly flew into the air, after something caused a panic."

Fred shot a look at James. "Huh. That sounds strange, Uncle Harry."

"Most couldn't tell what kind of dog, only that it was huge, but a few seemed to think the bird was a toucan. The bill is a bit of hint, you see."

James swallowed, forcing himself not to look at his cousin again. _Shite. _

"Those are your Patronuses, I believe. Aren't they boys?"

James and Fred did not say anything. "We've been in bed all night." James said, in what he hoped was a convincing manner. He and Fred could fool anyone—

Anyone but his father. Non-Legilimens or not.

"If that's true, then why were your Patronuses on the other end of London?"

"Are you sure they saw what they thought they did?" Fred asked.

"From all accounts, the Muggles swear by it. We managed to extract a few memories to make sure."  
>James cursed inwardly again. If that was the case, they would be caught for sure.<p>

"Now, sneaking out of bed aside, if they _were_your Patronuses, I don't think you'd cast them in front of a hundred Muggles unless you had a good reason to. And if you did, I need to know exactly what happened."

James and Fred finally looked at each other. There was nothing for it. They were cornered, and they knew it.

Pleading that Dad would have mercy on them, he and Fred launched into the story of how they had decided to attend a Muggle concert, and suddenly found themselves surrounded by dementors.

"And, well, people were going berserk, trampling over each other and screaming," Fred explained awkwardly. "We couldn't just _leave_, so we just reacted."

"You would've been proud of us, Dad," James put in. "It happened just like you told us—the Patronuses attacked the dementors and they flew away."

His father was silent for a moment, staring at them. James wasn't able to read his look, and it unnerved him. Usually, it was easy to tell what he was thinking or feeling.

"I am," he said at last, though still frowning. "If you hadn't been there, we could've had a real disaster on our hands." He suddenly looked stern. "However, you shouldn't have left when your mother strictly forbade you. I know you're both seventeen, but you're still under our care."

James's heart sank. We're. They were bloody _heroes_and they were going to be brought into the Ministry like criminals.

"I'll have to record your statement, but we'll leave it between us for now. Next time, though, I don't care if you saved a bus full of school children—I won't do it again."

He stood. "Get your things packed. We're leaving in an hour and a half."

"Dad?" James asked hesitantly. "What were dementors doing there in the first place?"

He thought he saw a ghost of an uneasy look on his father's face, but it was quickly gone. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I don't think you should have to worry about it."

And he left.

Fred turned to look at James, an eyebrow raised. "Was it just me, or did _he_seem worried?"

"A bit," James admitted. And he couldn't help thinking, despite what his dad said, this was only the beginning.

_A/N: For some reason, seeing the definition of the Fool card, I thought of young James S. Potter. James, the son of a hero, has never had a reason to fear about anything. What's a boy to do when this is interrupted?_

I'm not sure if anyone will think this makes sense, but I hope you enjoyed all the same.


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